Heroes: The Corrupted
by Forfie
Summary: Five years have passed since the events of Kirby Plaza. Our familiar Heroes have tried to move ahead in their lives, so to have others with abilities. A religious group lead by 'The Priest' emerges that will make the world unstable, once again.
1. Five Year Plan

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes in anyway shape or form. All property of the TV show Heroes is owned by NBC studios.

* * *

Heroes: The Corrupted  
Episode 1: Five Year Plan

Matt Parkman & Audrey Hanson  
Washington, D.C.

Matt Parkman sat at his desk, the flat screen monitor displaying the time down to the second in a three dimensional wobbling text. It was two o'clock in the morning and he still had paper work to go over, Janice and his son Mathew would already be asleep. They were used to it, thought Matt as he undid his blue tie and threw it on the keyboard for his computer. He rubbed his eyes and yawned; ready to put his head down on the desk he caught a stray thought. _Perhaps I should put on a pot of coffee,_ came the feminine voiced thought. Matt looked up to see his partner Audrey Hanson scowling with her arms crossed at the door to the small double office.

"You'd be amazing if you did that," said Matt as he leaned back in his chair and shook his computer mouse to bring up and excel sheet and a small map with selected marks on it.

"I hate when you do that," said Audrey as she filled the filter for the drip coffee maker and hit the on button and took a seat at her desk, "five years and you still do it."

"I can't believe I've lasted that long with you," said Matt with a smile on his face as he enlarged the map of the United States to have little pictures next to the marks.

"You should feel special," said Audrey as she was looking at her computer screen, "five years ago you were a beat cop on the LAPD that was on unpaid suspension for six months."

"Five years ago I was also shot in the chest four times with my own bullets from a serial killer," said Matt as he started to think of the past, "and almost killed in a nuclear explosion."

Audrey grabbed the freshly made pot of coffee and brought it over to their table. She poured a cup for herself and then passed it off to Matt. He poured his cup and mixed in two creamers and a packet of Splenda. _That's not going to help you_, thought his partner. Matt put the spoon down he used for stirring and looked Audrey in the eye with his eyebrow raised. She looked at him from the corner of her eye and then raised her hand in frustration.

"Will you cut that out?" she asked, "and seriously you aren't going to lose weight from using that stuff."

"Janice thinks it will help," said Matt as he sipped from his mug, "I do it to humor her."

_Wiped_, thought Audrey as she sipped from her cup, "any news on our favorite serial killer?"

"I don't know what to think about this," replied Matt as he examined the map at the multiple locations of individuals that had been murdered; Audrey walked around the desk to look at the map, "as many times as I go over it, nothing seems to add up. The Sylar we've been familiar with seems to have vanished. Prior to the Kirby Plaza Incident of 2007, his motive was removing of the top of the skull and the taking of the brain."

Matt clicked on a file that was on the bottom toolbar that showed several photos of brain removed victims; he scrolled through the crime scene photos, "these are the victims he had prior to the Plaza, nineteen approximately. Eleven of them were bystanders of his intended eight targets, confirmed by his not using his signature brain removal procedure. Three months after Kirby Plaza, Sylar struck again, for a period of two years...then he just seemed to vanish."

"And we almost had him with that sting operation," grumbled Audrey.

"I personally didn't like being the 'Bait'," replied Matt, "but digression aside, the trail of Sylar seemed to have ended there; the case was put on the back burner in unsolved. Okay, now five months ago more murders started to pop up with a similar description of Sylar's victims. The difference now is that it's not just skull cap separation and brain removal, but also torture."

"They're all sick fucks," replied Audrey, "now Sylar has just joined the ranks of regular serial killers."

"That's the point Audrey," said Matt as he spun around looking her in the eye, "serial killers are dictated by order, pattern and plan. Sylar was neat, simple…like with Ted prior to Kirby Plaza. He flipped a police transport to get him and then just removed Ted's brain for…whatever he does with them to gain power. There's lots of blood, yes, but it's typically quick, blunt and to the point; go in, get the brain and get out."

"You make it sound like going to the supermarket," said Audrey as she sipped her coffee.

"For Sylar," said Matt as he brought up the images of the new victims, "it's fairly similar. But this is what I'm seeming to have trouble with. This symbol here…it's burnt into the skin like a brand."

Audrey looked at the symbol that seemed that was seared in the flesh of one of the victims. It was a large J and F crossed together, or an S and T combined. _Looks like a fancy cross_ thought Audrey as she the golden symbol that hung from her neck with her forefinger and thumb.

"Now that's an idea," said Matt turning around to wink at her.

"Goddamn you," cursed Audrey as she spun Matt to face the computer and she walked out of the room to go to the lavatory. She closed the door behind her loudly as she stomped away. The frosted glass of the door read in black letters: Federal Bureau of Investigation – Agent A. Hanson – Agent M. Parkman – Special Investigative Services.

* * *

Molly Walker  
Odessa, Texas 

"Miss. Walker, if you insist on being late to classes again, I will have to inform your father," said the assistant principal, "and take you off the cheerleading squad."

"My father is currently on a business trip, Mr. Yates," said the fourteen year old Molly Walker, "and kick me off the squad, it doesn't matter. Cheerleading is not the most important thing in the world."

"The requirements for the school are that you must participate in at least two seasons of sports a year," said the principal, "I do not see how you could make that up coming to the end of the summer like this."

"I'm not graduating yet," mumbled Molly.

"And with an attitude like that," said Mr. Yates as he shuffled papers, "you may never…from this institute at least."

"Can I go now?" asked Molly.

"I would like the forwarding number of your father," he said to the shocked look on her face, "please."

"Fine," said Molly as she wrote down a number on a spare piece of paper and gave it to him, "that's his international cell. You should be able to reach it anytime; he's an insomniac and a work-aholic. Can I go now?"

"Yes," replied the principal as he took up the phone.

"Oh, and Mr. Yates," said Molly as she put the bag over her shoulder, "don't call him Dr. Suresh, he hates that. Call him Mohinder."

"Sure thing," replied Mr. Yates as he began to dial, "oh, that reminds me. You have Saturday detention…as in this Saturday at seven in the morning."

"C'mon," replied Molly as she tried to argue and plead with the detention.

"Hello, Dr…I'm sorry, Mohinder," said Mr. Yates, "this is the assistant principal of Stone Hollow College Preparation school. Yes, this call does concern Miss. Walker…."

Molly didn't hear the rest. She walked out of the room and headed to the front of the school. The car was there and waiting for her. The man behind the wheel had a long square hair cut and wore horned-rimed glasses; he smiled as she opened the passenger side door and hopped in.

"How was the day," he asked.

"It was okay, Mr. Bennet," replied Molly.

"Whenever my daughter said school was okay," started Mr. Bennet as the engine turned over with a twist of the key, "usually meant that something was up."

"I was late to a class today," replied Molly, "and now Yates is calling Mohinder."

"He won't like that very much," replied Bennet, "but why were you late?"

"It was nothing," said Molly, "I as just hanging out with some friends and we didn't watch the clock."

"And you don't have a clock on your cell," he asked as he made a right hand turn.

"I do," said Molly, "but…"

"Don't make excuses," he said, "I'm just preparing you for Mohinder's phone call."

"Can I ask you something," said Molly.

"Certainly," he said as he pulled into the driveway of his new house.

"When does Claire come back from Claire come back from college?"

"She's with the Petrellis for a little while," said Bennet, "NYU isn't far from where they are, so she wants to spend a week with her grandmother and her uncle. Then she plans to come back to Texas for the summer. She has some good news too."

"What is it?" asked Molly excitedly as she got out of the car, "does she have a boyfriend? Does she have a boyfriend for me?"

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," said Bennet as he opened the door to his house, "it has to do with summer plans…as long as Mohinder agrees."

"I'll make him agree," said the girl as she walked into the house, "I have a way of making him say yes to whatever I wanted."

"So I've noticed," said Bennet as he grabbed his briefcase from the counter, "Mrs. Bennet is getting some groceries and will be back in a half an hour; Lyle has a football game this afternoon, one of those alumni things. And when Mohinder calls, try not to make excuses, I know I'd appreciate the truth, so he would appreciate it as well. I have to go back to the office."

"You don't need me today?" she asked as she started to nibble the nuts on the counter of the coffee table.

"Today is just office cleaning and meeting new management," said Bennet with a small frown.

"Is this guy like Thompson?" asked Molly, Bennet had forgotten she had known Thompson before his death.

"No, I was on the committee that picked him," said Mr. Bennet as he opened the door, "he seems rather legit and this is really the only reason why I went back to them."

"I had nothing to do with it?" she asked with her eyes wide and teary.

"That may work for Mohinder, but not for me," replied Bennet as he left the house; the door quickly opened again and he popped his head in, "and yes, Molly Walker, you made me see the good of the company…again."

Molly sat back on the leather couch throwing a peanut in the air and catching it in her mouth. She smiled to herself and turned on the television. Sometimes fathers can be so easy, she thought to herself. Her cell phone started to ring and she sighed, time to face the music, she flipped open the phone.

"Hi, daddy," she could practically hear Mohinder's heart fill with warmth only a daughter can bring.

* * *

Claire Bennet, Peter Petrelli & Heidi Petrelli  
Rochelle, New York

The sun was out, partly cloudy though the three individuals were locked in a moment of darkness. They were at Holy Sepulchre Cemetery, at the family plot that had Peter's grandparents, father and brother all interned to their earthly cells. Claire was standing apart from Peter; he hand on the granite stone that said Nathan Petrelli, Heidi was bracing herself against Peter, who was giving her a one arm hug. Peter tried hard not to think, but the power he picked up from Parkman always seemed to be active, even after five years of practice.

_Why did you have to do it,_ thought Claire, _all the things you had missed and all the things you will miss…_

Heidi was no better, _Monty and Simon miss their daddy…and I miss that flyboy in uniform I fell in love with. Five years does not quell my suffering, not when I see you so much in our boys._

Peter sighed, "do you guys mind if…I um…go?"

"Go," said Claire, _this is his brother, and he wants to leave?_ "go where Peter?"

"It's okay," said Heidi, _he's uncomfortable. Even after five years,_ "we understand, you just need to be alone."

_I don't understand, _thought Claire.

"I'll leave the car for you guys…I'll just walk…" he said as he let himself out of the gated plot and walked away through the cemetery. The driver got out of the car and opened the door for Peter; he waved him off and mouthed 'thank you'. The driver shrugged and went back in on the driver's side and started to play the radio. Peter sighed and kept on walking till he got to a vault and double checked he was out of eyesight and made himself invisible by thinking of a misanthropic man named Claude.

He walked a few more steps before jumping off and started to fly, gaining speed as he broke the sound barrier. Five years gave him time to practice his powers, a task he prescribed himself to since the death of his brother. He continued to fly, holding onto his invisibility so that no one could see him. Using two or more powers at once came second nature to him, but the more he used, the less control he had and the less powerful the abilities were. He landed on his balcony and then walked through the locked door, phased as Hiro would say. The covered porch that out looked the balcony was surrounded with paintings, a hobby he started to embrace for income purposes because he did not feel appropriate in hospice care, nursing or politics. Painting also allowed him to utilize the power to see into the future that he gained from Isaac Mendez, to change something…to avoid another Kirby Plaza.

He looked at one of his most recent paintings; a symbol like a strand of DNA seemed to be a continuous occurring object. He remembered one of the times he talked with Hiro about it, how he said it was a combination of Japanese terms to mean 'Godsend'. Peter saw a faint image behind one of the 'Godsend' paintings, like he had dripped paint thinner on it. He walked into his apartment and sat down on the couch.

"Rough time," came a familiar voice.

"Not now," said Peter as he buried his face in his hands.

The man stood in front of him and knelt down. He was wearing a navy blue suit, blue button down shirt and red tie. His hair was combed up and over and he had a stone like expression on his face. Peter opened his eyes and turned to him.

"Don't do this to me now, Nathan," said Peter, "I've lived with it for five years…not now. Of all the powers I can control, why does this always plague me!"

"You mean, why do I plague you," replied his brother with a said smile as he sat next to Peter.

"You are dead Nathan," said Peter, "I was the one that carried your remains down…I was …the one that…killed you."

"Your subconscious disagrees," Nathan replied, "and Candice didn't help the situation none to much."

* * *

Meredith Gordon  
Chiapas, Mexico

There was a knock on the trailer door. Meredith went to open it to reveal a man dressed in a black frock. A monk from the Catholic church was not uncommon to see during the day in the mercados of Mexico. A house call was different, usually proselytizing for going to church more or donating more, or both.

"Buenas tardes, usted es Senora Gordon, verdad?" asked the hooded monk in Spanish. _Good Afternoon, you are Ms. Gordon, right?_

"Sí," she replied, "yo soy ella. Cómo puedo ayudarse?" _Yes, I am her. How may I help you?_

"Pedía tener un minuto de tiempo tuyo," he asked, "estadía vuelve a mañana." _May I have a moment of your time? I can return tomorrow._

"No, ahora es perfecto," she replied, "no soy ocupada con algo. Pero, usted habla en ingles? Este idioma no es primera lengua de yo." _No, now is perfect, I'm not busy with anything. But do you speak English? This language is not my first language._

"English it is then," he replied as he walked forward his heavy black boots hitting against the floor roughly, his clock sweeping around him like a sea of blackness.

"So what brings you to my parts of town, Padre," asked Meredith as she led the man to the tabled nook of the trailer, "would you like something to drink? Coffee, tea, un refresca?"

"Tea please," replied the priest as she reached for a tin can containing tea leaves, "oh, Twinings, haven't had that in a long time. Is it Earl Grey?"

"Yes, do you prefer sugar, cream?"

"Twist of lemon if you have any," replied the priest with a smile and a nod, "if not I'll take it plain."

"Unfortunately I have no lemons," replied Meredith.

"It is quite alright," replied the priest as he accepted the proffered cup of tea and took a sip, "as to why I'm here. Do you believe in God, Allah, Jehovah, Hashem or any other name the one may go by?"

"I'm not to religious," replied Meredith, "I haven't been to church since I was a little child, but I was raised Protestant."

"I wasn't asking if you were religious," said the priest, "I was asking if you believed in a god, any god. Because he believes in you and what…you can do."

"Padre," said Meredith as she eyed the door, "what do you mean?"

"It's a simple question Ms. Gordon," replied the priest as he took a sip from his tea, "do you believe there is something higher then us."

"Yes," replied Meredith as she flexed her fingers, "but I'm not sure I follow…"

"Do you accept that you are an abomination to the Lord?" asked the priest calmly, "an angel that has lost their way?"

"Leave now, Padre," she said as she stood up and opened the screen door.

The priest flicked his fingers and the door shut, Meredith was startled, "I accepted I was an abomination and now I strive to work for the Lord."

Meredith conjured a ball of fire in her hands and held it like she was going to throw it, "leave now, who ever you are."

"Do you wish to be saved Meredith?" the priest turned to her and put the cup down, "I offer salvation."

"I've warned you to leave, padre," Meredith threw the ball of fire at the priest singing his hood, "that was the last one. Leave now!"

"Now we can't have that," said the priest as he stood up held Meredith's hands forcing her to the ground as his hands turned blue and started to freeze her fingers and palms, "Do you accept the will of God?"

Meredith fought back calling forth the fire from with in. It started to burn off her clothing and the clothing of the priest it spread to the trailer as forces, fire and ice combated each other through will power. Meredith started to scream as she used all of will to live to fight this priest.

"Do you accept the will of God?" repeated the padre.

The light and screaming coming from the trailer vanished a minute later.

**A/N:** The idea for this story came to me today, and completely has interrupted my plans for my previous Heroes fanfic. I will try to continue both, but they are part of a story line, Emergence of Humanity is prior to Season 1 and The Corrupted is post Season 1. Any ideas you wish to express, please feel free to contact me through email message through fanfiction site.


	2. Bruised

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes in anyway shape or form. All property of the TV show Heroes is owned by NBC studios the creative minds of Tim Kring, et al.

* * *

Heroes: The Corrupted  
Episode 2: Bruised 

Peter Petrelli  
New York City, New York

Peter's eyes were glazed over as he was painting a fresh canvass. A hooded figure slowly emerged from what a forest that was emblazoned in flames. There was a golden chain that hung mid way on his chest and looked like a melted cross. Smoke rose from his shoes, the earth scorched in his wake. Peter pulled out of the trance with a startle as the front door opened. Claire walked in, throwing her purse on the kitchen counter and then slammed open the door leading to his enclosed porch.

"What is with you," she said, "you leave your brother's grave to do what…paint? That's more important."

"You wouldn't understand Claire," he said as he put down the brush and pallet and took the painting from the easel placing it on a drying rack.

"I lost a father," she said, "Do you know what that feels like?"

"I DO!" seethed Peter, "Nathan and I had planed to testify against him before he killed himself, I betrayed him. And I _killed_ Nathan. I didn't lose him, I killed my own brother!"

"He made his own action," said Claire, "he was my hero."

"Then I was the villain," replied Peter as he walked away wiping his hands with a dirty towel.

Claire followed him, "no, you are not. You are my hero too Peter, you've always been since homecoming."

"That man is dead," replied Peter as he entered the kitchen and washed his hands under the faucet with soap.

"Just because your brother is dead," said Claire as she sat at the counter on a stool, "doesn't mean you are."

Peter sighed and opened the refrigerator door, "want something to eat?"

"Got any apples," asked Claire, "unless you wanna cook a full meal."

Peter pointed to the counter that had apples in a bowl. Claire frowned and pressed one of them to find out they were plastic. She coughed to get Peter's attention and held up the apple dropped it on the counter. It bounced once and rolled off to the hardwood floor. Peter laughed and took out some loose cold cuts he had from the deli. He placed them on the table and took a slice rolling it around a piece of cheese.

"That is so not healthy," said Claire as she took a slice.

"Don't let it stop you," replied Peter as he chewed, "It's so good."

"Where did you pick up this habit of snacking," she asked as she nibbled on a slice of prosciutto.

"Dad used to take me and Nathan down to the kitchens at night and rolled out a platter," said Peter a reminiscent look on his face, "it was the boys time together, we'd eat in silence, occasionally watch recaps of sports on the small black and white TV the cooks had setup there. It was one of the few times that I can say dad and I bonded; I don't believe I was his favorite."

"That's so horrible to say," Claire voiced between chews, "so you weren't close with him?"

Peter looked at his metallic toaster and saw Nathan's reflection next to him. He knew it was a hallucination, an illusion from his subconscious. Nathan's face nodded. He turned back to Claire.

"Dad loved Nathan," said Peter, "like most fathers' do with their first children. I was dotted on by my mom, mostly."

"Can you tell me more of my father," said Claire as she took another piece of prosciutto, "and my Grandfather?"

"I don't know the whole story," admitted Peter, "both men were very secretive, but I will tell you what I know…again."

"I always like hearing it from you," said Claire.

_Telling it is the hard part_, thought Peter as he glanced back at the toaster's reflective surface to see Nathan scowling.

* * *

Mohinder Suresh  
Chiapas, Mexico 

"Um…Where…Donde esta…Senora Gordon?" he asked flipping through a phrase book.

"Senora es muerta," _She is dead_ replied an old woman from town, "la gente de pueblo diga que un padre matase. Ellos son loco en la cabezza, un padre no matase algo." _the people in town say that a priest kiled her. They are crazy (in the head), a priest doesn't kill anyone._

"Um…" replied Mohinder as he was flipping through his phrase book, "tu habla…ingles?"

"Ingles? No, yo no hablo la idioma," _English? No, I don't speak that language_ replied the old woman, "pero, la doctora se habla." _But the doctor speaks it._

"Um…donde esta…la doctora," asked Mohinder.

"Ella esta en el centro de pueblo," _She's in the center of town_ replied the woman, "derecha de la mercado." _right of the market._

"Yo…no comprendo," Mohinder was confused.

"No se preocupe," _Do not worry yourself_ said the old woman, "se me llama," _I'll call_ she went into her house and picked up the phone to call the doctor.

Mohinder waited outside looking over his phrase book and smiling as people walked by. Not knowing the language had really limited his search, but he wanted to find this Meredith Gordan. Bennet had mentioned the name during his research, testing and tracking of evolved individuals. No matter what he looked for, her genetic code never seemed to come up, so he wanted to see this person for himself. See if she might want to come back, and if not maybe donate some blood for the project. It had been five years and research, like any other, was a slow process. Even a translator would speed up items, but one had yet to be appropriated to him.

He questioned why he remained with the company after Thompson's death. The hours were long, the pay was better then university work in India or driving a cab, but it felt more like a business than a research institute. He took out his cell phone and checked the time; it was getting close to afternoon. He touched the speed dial for Bennet's cell phone and waited three rings before the man picked up.

"How's Mexico," asked the man on the other line.

"It's rather humid but nice," replied Mohinder as he wiped the sweat from his brow, "I've got a problem."

"Problem," repeated Bennet, "what seems to be the problem?"

"Meredith Gordon seems to be dead," said Mohinder, "well, that's what a villager told me…said she was killed."

"Have you visited the body?" asked Bennet, "I need you to get information on how she died."

"I was going to talk with town doctor," Mohinder said as he watched a woman in a flannel shirt that was tucked into jeans and boots walk in his direction, "and visit the site, would pictures be good?"

"Yes," replied Bennet, "and a corners report as well, the doctor's might be all they have. I'll contact you if I get any information up on her, but…that seems unlikely."

The woman in the flannel shirt stood in front of Mohinder with her hand stretched out in greeting; "hello, I'm Cecile Basque. I'm from Doctor's without Borders and currently stationed here. Senora Vasquez called me saying you wanted to speak with me about Meredith Gordon?"

"Uh…I'm Mohinder Suresh," said the geneticist as he fumbled around with his hands moving the cell phone to the other ear, he then turned to the cell as he shook her hand, "I'll call you back Bennet, adios."

He clicked the phone shut and turned to Cecile, "Sorry about that, business partner."

"Life insurance?" she asked her arms crossed in front of her with a look of disdain that besmirched her face taking all traces of Iberian beauty from that oval canvass, "you guys are just blood suckers when it comes to the dead, even internationally."

"Senora Basque," pleaded Mohinder, "you've got me all wrong, I am a geneticist and I was looking for Senora Gordan because of a project back in the states. You might have heard of it, the Human Genome Project."

"You're about as much a part of the Human Genome Project as I am a part of the Zapatistas," replied the doctor, "follow me to my office and then maybe you can tell me hat it is you do."

"Thank you…for your help Senora Basque," said Mohinder as they entered a small room that served as her office, "this is quant, reminds me of Chennai University's offices."

"It's temporary," replied the doctor as she opened up a file cabinet, "and please call me Cecile, or Doctor Basque, not Senora."

"Sorry, the language and customs are a bit foreign to me," replied Mohinder as he looked around the desk at documents written in Spanish, English, German and French and pictures with other people in front of monuments; "you've been with Doctor's without Borders for a long time?"

"Is that a question or statement," she asked as she continued to look through files.

"Both, I guess," he said sitting down, "would finding the file be found faster if I told you my job here?"

"Perhaps," replied Cecile Basque, "oh and please sit down."

Mohinder jumped up like he was electrocuted, "well…it's a bit of clandestine research…I guess. But my father, Dr. Chandra Suresh, theorized that evolution has reached a point where individuals gain certain abilities. Abilities unlike that of anything previous to the species and can lead to horrible events or a terrific break through in science. Meredith Gordon is one of these people; will you now help me out now?"

"If you're going to be that ambiguous," she said sitting down at the table throwing down a file and flipping it open to reveal a picture of the burnt out insides of a trailer, "then maybe you can answer me what this is," she pointed to the picture, "it was around three days ago or so, no one noticed anything except an odd priest asking for where Meredith Gordan lived. And trust me, Suresh, I've seen fire damage before…it is not localized to the interior of trailers like this, it would have tried to climb out the windows to get to more air supply, but there is no mark next to the windows, nor the door or any other point to the outside.

"Secondly," she flipped to another photo of the primary fire origin and two shoes that were charred and melted to the ground, "even in alleged cases of spontaneous combustion, there is a trace of human body parts left. An arm, a leg, even a foot for the shoes that were left, but there is nothing left of Meredith Gordon except carbon ashes. Cremators are lucky to get that good of a burn on the first go. Now tell me, what could do this to a human body, Suresh?"

"I'm afraid that I can't," replied Mohinder, "it's a simple problem of trust…and I can see the lack of it between us."

"Keep your secrets," replied the doctor as she took the file away, "and I'll keep my findings."

Mohinder paused for a minute or two in contemplation, "it's the lesser of two evils," he finally said with a sigh, "Meredith was a…she could create fires and control them. That's probably why there were no remains of her; in stressed situations, these powers sometimes consume the bodies of these individuals."

"What do you mean she can control fire," said Cecile as she opened the file and flipped through it, "and consumed? This has happened before?"

"Twice of major documentation," replied Mohinder, "one of which I saw personally. If she had been shot or something like that, then…this could be the result," he waved his fingers at the photo of the last remains of Meredith Gordon.

"What…the…fuck…" expressed Cecile quizzically.

"Many have that response," said Mohinder pausing afterwards, "Do mind if take some of those photos? My partner would be interested in them, as well as the reports you've made."

"Certainly," replied Cecile in shock, "since she had no next of kin here, what should I do with the remains?"

"Actually, if you didn't mind," said Mohinder, "I know of a connection between her and someone that would like to see her properly interned, may I take Meredith home to her?"

"Yes," said Cecile as she went to the mantle piece and grabbed a copper urn, "this is her. Would you like to visit the site and collect some personal items that may have survived?"

"May I take some of my own photos as well," asked Mohinder as he held the file and the urn, "do you need a copy of this for Doctors without Borders?"

"Hardly, I've done all I can here for the people…TB is down and that's pretty much all they asked me to do," she replied gathering her keys, "and you can take your own pictures."

"Thank you," said Mohinder as he held the door open with his foot.

Cecile looked at him and laughed and held the door for herself, "it's the dark Land Rover at the cross roads," Mohinder nodded and started to walk over squinting as the bright sun hit him in the face.

* * *

Matt Parkman  
Potomac, Maryland 

Inside the bathroom of his new house, Matt wiped off the steam on the mirror created from his shower. He stared at his jaw turning his head from side to side as he reached for his shaving cream and a fresh razor blade. He began shaving and then heard foot steps coming to the room. _Why is she calling now_ he heard his wife think as she opened the door.

"We don't knock anymore," he asked.

"You can hear me coming," replied his wife, "it's Audrey, she needs to talk to you."

Matt outstretched his hand for the phone as he wiped the white foam from his face and kissed his wife on the cheek; putting the phone to his ear he walked into the master bedroom to pick out his suit for the day, "hello, Audrey, what's up?"

"You need to come in now," she said desperately, "you need to be here 30 minutes ago, I can't believe this, I don't know how it's happened. It's a nightmare."

"Whoa whoa whoa," said Matt as he was putting on his shirt and witching the phone from ear to ear, "whats the deal, whats going on?"

"Someone's hacked onto our system," she yelled at him, "and has disabled all other systems for the FBI, CIA, DHS, NSA to track them. This guy is making us scramble around with our heads cut off and we can't even police ourselves to control the situation. Worst of all, all those program files of ours, videos of people using their…powers are being posted on YouTube and other sites by this hacker label McTruth. We need you down here for damage control right the fuck now!"

"Shit." Said Matt as he through on his pants and shoes with the rest of his clothing in hand and ran down the steps.

"Matt, what did Audrey…" started to ask his wife Janice at the bottom of the stairs as she helped little Matt put on a back pack.

"No time, major crisis," said Matt as he kissed his wife on the cheek and hugged his son as he rushed out of the house leaving the door open behind him.

"Will you be home for dinner?" yelled out Janice.

"No," yelled back Matt, he jumped into his sedan and quickly turned over the engine and pealed out of the drive way to make it to the FBI head quarters in Washington, D.C. Matt placed a Bluetooth headset on his ear and synced it with his phone calling back Audrey as he drove there. Getting an idea oh how big the security breach was, it seemed that all internal maintenance operations that would be used to combat this hack were paused or disabled. This was a problem to the whole government because if another branch was hit by hackers then the primary defenses would be the only thing in the way. They needed to find this hacker and fast.

Matt ran up the stairs as fast as he could, hustling all the way. He tore through the Investigative Service branch to get to the door of his office in Special Investigative Service as he pulled his arm through a sleeve in his suit jackets. He walked around to his desk and sat down to look at his computer screen. The files on all recorded individuals and incidents of people with special abilities were being transferred to another computer.

"Fuck," breathed Matt as he tried to exit the transfer from his keyboard, an aim window popped up with the screen name McTruth.

McTruth: Nah uh uh, won't help you.

Matt typed back a response that read: Who are you? This is a federal offence, stop your action immediately. Agent Hanson ran in to see Matt sitting and typing at the keyboard.

"The tech crew said to unplug the machines," said Audrey as she reached for the power cables in the back of the computers.

"No," yelled Matt, "I got this fuck on instant message, get tech to track it."

"Matt, our secrecy is blown and secure files are being lost," said Audrey as she unplugged her computer, "we need to stop this now."

The ding of a new instant message came from McTruth: Tell Agent Hanson to stop, or I will not hand the machines over to you again.

Matt typed back: I will if you tell me how you are doing this. He turned to Audrey and put his hand up motioning to wait. The door to the office opened again and in walked the Assistant Director of Operations for the FBI and representatives of the CIA and DHS.

"What the hell is going on here, Parkman," said the AD Elisa Thayer, "you were told to unplug the machines!"

Audrey tried to hold him off, "ma'am, we got in contact with hacker and Parkman is stalling him to see if we might get information."

"You have been compromised," said Thayer, "shut down now!"

There was another ding from the screen name McTruth: maybe you should look for the Wireless connection.

The representative of Homeland Security reached down and pulled the plug from the back from the computer. The monitor went blank as all the lights faded because of the loss of electirical power. Matt sighed and put his hands on his eyes leaning back. The Assistant Director of Operations put her hand on the back of Matt's chair and turned him around to be face to face. Matt looked up at the strawberry blonde haired women that had fixed lines of anger on her face.

"You have compromised this branch," she said seething, "and for what? A conversation with the hacker and the complete lose of all the work you've done for five years?"

"I got a way to find him," said Matt with a laugh.

"I don't care if you got his home fucking address," said Thayer.

"Wait," said the representative from the CIA, "I want to hear this, it could be of use to us."

"I don't care what the CIA wishes for," said Thayer, "this is my agency."

"I believe I'm the director of this agency," said a tall man with rosie cheeks and a slight South Boston accent, "seeing as the current director of the FBI is Cormac McCullen, and I be him."

Matt and Audrey stood up quickly, causing the chair to flip forward forcing Elisa Thayer to stumble. Everyone looked at the bemused face of the Director of Operations for the FBI. He sat down in Audrey's chair and folded his arms across his chest.

"So Agent Parkman this must be good," continued McCullen, "for putting all of the computers of the federal government at risk."

"I move for Agent Parkman's suspension," said Thayer as she stood up straight, "following a full investigation of the events that have occurred today."

"Your recommendation has been noted, Ms. Thayer," said McCullen now with a serious expression on his usually jovial face and turned to Parkman, "well," he said, "out with it Agent," _I hope to God you have something good_ thought the Director.

"Well sir," said Parkman, "before the plug was pulled this McTruth mentioned a codeword Wireless."

_Wireless can mean anything from your cordless phone to an internet connection_ thought Elisa Thayer, a sneer on her face, "so this is the break through you put us all at risk for?"

"Assistant Director Thayer," said Matt stressing the word 'assistant' noting the sparkle in the Director's eye, "Wireless is the code name for a person that this branch had known about since its creation five years ago."

"And what's so special about this person," asked the CIA representative that was thinking _is this the same Wireless that has been trafficking the CIA information databases?_

Matt Parkman's eye brow rose as he looked at the Director of Operations, who gave him a nod and thought _don't let all the kittens out of the bag_; Matt continued, "Wireless is the code name of a rogue Mossad intelligence agent. She has been cut loose from intelligence agencies for about five years now, but seems to be able to gain access to all intelligence networks from Argentina to Zambia."

"Why haven't you brought her in," said Thayer, _this is a dereliction of duty and treason._

"That's the hard part," Matt turned to McCullen, "all our reports led to her death on a Chinese space expedition five years ago."

_How the hell can a dead intelligence agent hack all the American branches at once _thought the CIA agent. Matt looked at the group of suits that were all in the office of Special Investigative Service, he then looked at Audrey. _What the hell do we do now Parkman_, were the thoughts coming from her brain. Matt grabbed the power cord to his computer and placed it back in the machine.

"Will someone find out from tech if the line is secure now?" he asked as he sat down at his computer, "and tell those guys we need to remove all the information from the net and monitor the sites it was posted on? I have a job to do here, and I plan on getting it done."

McCullen got up from Audrey's chair and respectfully held it open for the lady to sit down, "C'mon boys and girl, lets leave these agents to their work. Parkman, I want a full report of today's events on my desk in the morning, same to you Agent Hanson, this is a security matter that must be investigated."

Thayer's face was marked with anger at being referred to as girl, she and the other suits from CIA and DHS left the office. Matt picked up Thayer's last few thoughts, _how can McCullen do this! They deserved to be crucified for their actions today._ Matt laughed to himself as he logged into the computer system. Audrey looked at him quizzically.

"You almost cost us our jobs today," said Audrey in a pissed off mood.

"I put us in the good book with McCullen," replied Matt as he tapped his head with a smile.

"He'd only be in a good mood if we captured this Wireless," said Audrey, "where is that case file anyway?"

"Check under the name Hana Gitelman," replied Matt, "and how do you propose we capture a cybernetic consciousness?"

"What?"

"She died taking out Linderman's tracking system," Matt continued, "but was fatally wounded doing so, and to survive, uploaded her consciousness to the internet."

"How the hell do we stop that," Audrey pointedly looked to Matt, "let alone contact her?"

"Would you prefer to use the phone, instant messenger, MySpace or her personal website," he replied with a coy smile and a brief laugh at the frustrated expression on Audrey's face.

* * *

Noah Bennet  
Odessa, Texas 

Bennet walked into the Primatech Paper Company and headed down the wooded hallway to the entrance of the research facility. He punched in the code and walked into the facility till he got to his office. He sat down and prompted his computer to turn on. He took out a folder that he had on Meredith Gordon and started to file the paper work for deceased. He thought back to the time that he and Claude had went to 'bag and tag' this person only to wind up creating a five alarm fire and adopting Claire. He sighed remember his meeting with Kaito Nakamura. His nostalgia was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Bennet looked up from the file, his horn-rimmed glasses fixed on his new boss and representative of the Company, "good-morning, Mr. Niemans."

"Bonjour, Monsieur Bennet," replied the middle-aged Frenchman with salt and pepper short cropped limp hair, weak chin and pronounced nose dressed in a chocolate brown suit and metallic gray button down shirt and chocolate tie, "how is the case," he indicated the file on table by tapping it with his middle finger.

"Unfortunately, I was contacted yesterday by Dr. Suresh," replied Bennet, "it seems that Ms. Gordon is dead."

"How unfortunate," said Niemans as he took a seat and crossed his legs leaning back, "so I expect Dr. Suresh will be back soon, correct?"

"He is collecting all the information from the scene currently," replied Bennet, "he should be back within the week."

"I do hope he does not concern people there," Niemans placed his finger tips together, tapping both index fingers every other second, "I would very much like to meet him, and to get a look at his research."

"He would also like to talk with you," replied Bennet, "seeing as you were not a name on the list and all."

"Ah, yes the infamous list," replied the new boss, "another item I would like to go over with Dr. Suresh. I know it must be hard for most to get used to new management around here…considering the issue of corruption and mismanagement issues of the past."

"That all changed five years ago, sir," replied Bennet coolly, "with Linderman and your predecessor's untimely death."

"That has brought up some concern with the upper brass," said Niemans, "you are a trusted member of this company, you have served us for a long time, honestly, but your action that did lead to my hiring and the return of order has also brought a question of your loyalty."

"During this five year transition period, I have remained with this company based on the promise of a better management and the ability to make a difference and protect innocent people," said Bennet, "the company under the direct command of Thompson and the idealistic human sacrifices proposed by Linderman persuaded me to forfeit my position. I was asked back here for help in this transition and to select you as our new boss. And you question my loyalty?"

Niemans saw that Bennet was beyond pissed, "calm, Monsieur Bennet, I did not mean to insult. It is just that, you have been partnered with Dr. Suresh for five years and it has been good for both of you, but the Company is ending that now."

Bennet continued to sit down, the file in front of him completely forgotten, "the partner's I've had in the past have not always been loyal. Dr. Suresh has been a friend, confidant and a welcomed guest at my house."

"And he can remain such to you, but no longer your partner," said Niemans, "I have seen to match you with a mild manner fellow named Fletcher, Harry Fletcher. He's an ex-S.W.A.T. officer for the NYPD and a highly decorated Marine Corp sniper that served in Iraq in '91 and 2003. I know that a heavy dossier for you to be teamed up with, but his power will defiantly help you through more of these meet and greets," the last part was ended on a wide, tooth showing smile.

Bennet shifted in his chair, "how do we know he's qualified to be a member of the Company."

"I've given him my own personal lie-detector test," replied Niemans with a smile, "are you satisfied with all this, Monsieur Bennet?"

"No," said Bennet honestly, "but I will do as the Company wishes."

Niemans stood up and out reached his hand for a shake, "it was good to have this conversation with you," Bennet shook his supervisor's hand, "and I hope you will continue to update me about Madame Gordon when Dr. Suresh contacts you next."

Niemans turned and headed out the door, his hand on the handle he turned back to Bennet, "oh and Monsieur Bennet, please watch what you tell la petite fille Walker." Bennet nodded, mixed feelings about having a special person as his supervisor that could tell his past actions and the continued actions of the Company and his new partner. Niemans walked out of the office and closed the door behind him. Bennet sat down and logged back on his computer. He searched the database for the name Harry Fletcher and pulled up his full dossier including psyche evaluation, medical reports and a picture of a young man with a freckled complexion, buzzed cut blonde hair, gray eyes and defined English jaw line. Bennet sighed and mumbled to himself.

"All-American-hero-want-to-be," he looked at the psyche report, "loose canon that will probably get himself killed if left alone. Great."

* * *

Abu Aswan  
Montreal, Quebec 

Abu Aswan was walking down the street after stopping by the local market. There was one paper bag tucked in his arm filled with food, the loose oranges on top, so that they did not bruise. It was a warm night as they were entering the summer months, so this middle aged, light skinned Arabic man with piercing dark eyes and neatly parted dark hair that was medium length was wearing a short sleeve button down shirt with the top button undone and khaki pants and flip-flops. He continued to walk back to his apartment which was only three blocks away when he heard heavy foot steps behind him.

He turned around, only to see darkness. This made the man nervous, especially after the events that had occurred in his life, like the unjust imprisonment in Israel and the branding of the name terrorist because of certain abilities. Abilities that he found that he could not have planned to receive, but now had to live with. If they found me, I will have to fight, he thought, I don't want too, but I must survive. He quickened his pace to his apartment and he heard the click of heavy boots against side walk again.

Breathing heavy, he ducked into a side alley and took out his prepaid cell phone and typed in the number two for the speed dial. It was the number that he was given by a friend, another person like him; well, with a different power. It rang three times before it as answered on the other end.

"Abu," answered a electronic sounding voice with the hint of an Israeli accent, "I told you to only use this if you are in danger."

"Wireless," he said into the receiver, "I believe I'm being followed."

"Where are you," said the person on the other line, "I can't see you through the street cameras."

"I ducked in an alley to get away from them," Aswan whispered into the phone.

"Move to the street," commanded the disembodied voice urgently, "now!"

"Okay," said Aswan as he started to walk to the lighted street as a dark cloaked figure moved into the alley way; it's hood was up blocking it's face in darkness, "who…who are you?"

"Are you Abu Aswan?" asked the cloaked figure as it moved forward, it's heavy boots clicking against the paved alley.

"What's going on," asked Wireless, through the phone, "whose there, Abu."

Aswan dropped the phone into a puddle as he started to walk backwards down the alley facing the stranger. He held his now free hand up into the air as he continued to back away. The strange cloaked figure moved close, the darkness from the alley starting to obscure Abu Aswan's vision.

"Are you Abu Aswan," asked the hooded figure again.

"Stay back, if you know what's good for you," said Abu as he started to push radiation from his hand making his skin look like it was glowing red, yellow and orange with the bones of his fingers highlighted underneath. The figure moved forward, unafraid of the power Aswan yield. Abu felt a sickening in his stomach, making him clutch his groceries harder. He looked up to his hand and saw it flicker between its radiated and regular state before coming to a rest. He tried hard to call forth his power, but to no avail.

"Take him," ordered the hooded figure, confusing Aswan and forcing him to turn around and see another cloaked figure move forward placing a black gloved hand to his forehead and forcing him to the ground. Abu tried to struggle as a hand was placed around his mouth and nose as well. He screamed out, but the noise was muffled as he was engulfed in darkness. The groceries he held fell from his grip, the oranges that were loose so as not to get bruised rolled down the alley. One came to a rest at the prepaid cell phone that Wireless was still connected too.

"Abu!" screamed Wireless through the phone, "Are you there? Are you hurt?"

The hooded figure from the mouth of the alleyway bent down to the puddle and picked up the cell phone, shaking off the water from it.

"Abu, is that you!" yelled Wireless.

"I regret to inform you," said the blunt husky voice from under the cloak and hood, "that Mr. Aswan is permanently indisposed," the cloaked figure then turned off the phone and crushed it to pieces in it's hand, letting the remnants drop next to the fallen orange. The figure walked forward to it's partner and the body of Abu Aswan, it's heavy boot slowly pressing against the vibrant colored orange, crushing it into a mess of peel, seeds and pulp.

**A/N:** The names of several characters are actual names from the show, such as Agent Elisa Thayer, Harry Fletcher and Abu Aswan, all of which were found from the HereosWiki site. Also, the last name Niemans is in reference to Crimson Rivers and Crimson Rivers II: Angles of the Apocalypse, and is based on the character role of Jean Reno as a French Special Investigator. Again, all reviews are welcome, so are sharing any ideas you might have of characters and powers. Thank you for reading.


	3. Found Wanting

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the TV show Heroes, or anything associated with NBC Studios or the creative minds of Tim Kring, et al. No money or profit of any kind is being made from this writing.

* * *

Heroes: The Corrupted  
Episode 3: Found Wanting

Mohinder Suresh, Mr. Bennet & Mr. Niemans  
Odessa, Texas

Inside the conference room of Primatech Paper Co. the three men sat at a rectangular table. Mohinder Suresh was at the head of the table next to a projector hooked up to his personal laptop. They were waiting for the final people to show up for the meeting. Mohinder was nervous around his new boss, his eyes darting between Bennet and the Frenchman. Bennet sat back and took out a cloth to wipe his glasses while Niemans was flipping through file that Mohinder had created. He looked up, Mohinder in his reflective gaze.

"Dr. Suresh, how was your time in Mexico?" asked the new director of the Company, sitting backwards placing his fingertips together, the index fingers tapping every other second.

"Quite good, sir," replied Mohinder as he glanced to Bennet and then back to Niemans, "except for Ms. Gordon's death, that does seem to be a set back in the formula."

"Was it all business," continued Niemans, "or did you take some personal time off, perhaps a day?"

"I did, sir," replied Mohinder with a grimace, knowing that lying to a super genome individual that can read your past actions through touch would be pointless, "I was invited to dinner by the local doctor of the town Ms. Gordon was located at. Should I not have, Mr. Niemans?"

"By all means," said Niemans with a toothy grin, "I am not one to get in the way of a man on a day off, I do say you deserve it after five years of work. As long as you are prepared for what may lay ahead of us. With these new meet and greet campaigns, it's always good to have a doctor to explain it to others like me. I must say my time in intelligence services would have been a little more productive if I had garnered this capability more."

"You've used this term several times," grumbled Bennet, "but I see no difference between our tactics of old and this. Is it in name only?"

"That would depend on you and your partner, Mr. Bennet," replied Niemans coolly, "I and some of the higher ranks have left it this ambiguous so as to not fall in the rut left by the late Mr. Thompson. And seeing as the Company's satellite was destroyed by a former 'Bag and Tag' and the life of Ms. Walker was threatened by you, we want to avoid such significant monetary and life losses. It was also Thompson who damaged the company more then he thought with the imprisonment of that Sylar, yes, I've been looking over all the files to know the history of this specific Company site. And there needs to be an overhaul of tactics that were once useful but are now brutish and barbarous. We would outside any government, but we are still humans."

Mohinder was silenced and staying out of the conversation between the two. He looked over at his friend Bennet and then back to his new boss, Niemans. He had only just arrived back to the United States, leaving after that one extra day he spent in Mexico, going over the site and a dinner with Dr. Basque. The second he had stepped into Bennet's office, he had been told that their five year partnership was over, as orders from Niemans. Mohinder was not upset at this, being one that usually adapted to change fairly well, but Bennet seemed to be disgruntle, a characteristic that had not been common to him except five years ago. Mohinder raised an eye brow to Bennet who nodded and remained silenced.

The door to the conference room opened one more time and three new people walked in. A freckled guy with a short buzz cut blonde, sharp and long English jaw line and piercing gray eyes seemed to have the body of a football linebacker stuffed into a gray single breasted suit, white button down shirt, and thin black tie. He held the door open for a woman that had shoulder length brunette hair, lithe build and wore a short skirt that made Mohinder and Niemans blush a little and force their eyes upwards. The sat down at the table, the man with the buzz cut next to Bennet and the woman was right next to him. The last person to enter the room was a stone faced Japanese man with his black hair combed to the side that looked at place in his blue double breasted suit and yellow tie.

Bennet stood up and bowed, "Konichiwa, Nakamura Kaito," and then added more informally as Niemans stood up as well, "how are you today."

Nakamura regarded Bennet and bowed back, "I am doing well," he replied before turning to Niemans and bowing.

Bennet, dejectedly sat down as the woman smirked to herself, stared her in the eyes and until she looked away, the smile playing on the corners of her lips. Niemans directed the rest of the table, "shall we make introductions first, or wait till the end."

"Is that really, necessary," asked Bennet as he looked at the gathered individuals, "we should all know each other by now."

The man with the buzz cut spoke up for the first time, in a deep voice that was full of ambition, "I'm still quite in the dark about who every one else is."

"Maybe if you asked our files on occasion," mumbled Bennet causing the man next to him to draw his lips together tight.

"Perhaps afterwards would be best," replied Mohinder, "so we can get this information out of the way quickly."

"I agree with Dr. Suresh," replied Kaito Nakamura, "the faster this is done, the better for us all."

Mohinder hit the control for the lights with a button at the head of the table as Nakamura took his seat next to Niemans, the projected was turned on to display a slide show program of several pictures from the murder site of Meredith Gordon, "as you can see from the site, full body recovery was impossible. The local doctor did retain several ashes, but I was unable to gain any DNA markers from it. The person that we are looking at here is Meredith Gordon," he hit a button on the laptop and a picture of a much younger Meredith was shown, "she was a small business jewelry maker that had one daughter. Nineteen years ago, Mr. Bennet and his partner attempted to pick up Ms. Gordon and the results," he clicked again to show a newspaper article and burning house, "fairly horrible.

"Assumed dead, she proceeded to run from the Company and authorities, frequenting the locals of Mexico and South America, coming back to Texas around five years ago. While in Texas, she made two known contacts, that with her daughter and the father of the daughter: Nathan Petrelli," the group nodded.

The man in the buzz cut spoke up, "what does this have to do with the Company?"

"Well, the connect this woman has with the Company is rather deep," replied Mohinder as he continued, "and to my research, and my father's research, she was not mentioned on the list, even with the access to files of blood work done for the Human Genome Project and medical records. The question is, is this a different gene that was activated in her, or does this have a larger role to the factor of inheritance. In the records, I was able to surmise her parents may have exhibited passive abilities…."

"What is a passive ability," asked the man with a buzz cut again, Bennet grumbled in his seat, the man looked at him, "come again?"

"Passive ability that is always working or on," replied Bennet, "it's not active like, being radioactive or mimicry."

"Right," said Mohinder, "people with passive abilities, like cellular regeneration have it always turned on, so to say. Meredith however, possessed an active ability, she could produce and control fire."

"Little fire starter," laughed the woman, "blazing trails through Texas and Mexico."

No one paid any attention to her, letting her laugh herself into silence, "well, the genetic markers can be, or may not be different for second generation super genome individuals. This adds a whole new aspect to my research, one that I hope to get help from Mr. Niemans and others our organization can find that are not marked on the list."

"This is where we want you, Monsiuerss Bennet and Fletcher," spoke up Niemans, addressing the man with the buzz cut as Fletcher, "we still have several people on the list that need to be contacted, confirm their powers and ask if they'd like to be trained to control them."

"An aspect this company once stood for," said Nakamura, "helping people for the future."

"Don't you mean a better tomorrow," replied the woman.

"If you are referring to the terms and ideology of the former owner, Mr. Linderman," said Kaito, "then no, I am not."

The woman shut up and sat back in her chair, Niemans then regarded her and Mohinder, "and that leaves Dr. Suresh and Madame Wilmer, who I think will be able to work with the individuals while they are at this complex. Dr. Suresh on the medical aspects of course and Madame Wilmer on the personal issues, a company provided friend, if you will Candice."

Dr. Suresh cleared his throat, "I think it would be wise to hire more medical staff," pausing to see if there were any objections, he continued, "it's just I am not the best equipped doctor, I am more of a researcher. Also a support staff would be nice to have for my research, otherwise I feel overwhelmed."

Bennet decided to reinforce his friend, "and considering Mohinder is a family man now, it would be best for him to be there for Miss. Walker."

"All good points," replied Niemans, "but we are still short staffed after this transition, with new hires, we will be able to support you better, but you and the rest of us will have to make due for now."

Mohinder sighed and leaned back in his chair. Bennet frowned, his eye darting to Candice as she sat back smugly. The only one that seemed oblivious to the people's behavior was Fletcher as he kept looking at the photos in the file. Kaito stood up and bowed to Niemans first and then the rest of the table after he called the meeting to a close. He strode out of the room, leaving his file in its original spot to be picked up and incinerated so no other can find it and get knowledge of the Company. Niemans left after him after bidding everyone a good day. Candice then decided to face Bennet.

"What the hell is wrong with you," she said, Fletcher and Mohinder took that time to finish packing up and head to the door.

"Candice, you are not a part of this Company," replied Bennet coolly, "you were tool of Linderman that has been left over from the old era of Company management. Why they have kept you on not only upsets me, but is befuddling. So I must ask of you; why the hell are you here and not in the arms of some guy pretending to be a different person?" Bennet gathered the files and tossed them into an incinerator, never looking up at her.

"Are you still sore about my turning you in?" she questioned, a noticeable change in her voice as if she was half way between a sob and yelling at the man in horn rimmed glasses.

"You did what you were told to," Bennet continued, "and that is where you fail to be a genuine human being."

He walked out of the conference room to see Mohinder and the new guy talking, taking his briefcase in hand he headed to the entrance to the secret wing of Primatech Paper Co. Harry Fletcher came up behind him quickly, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Hold up, partner," he said in his deep voice, "we need to talk."

"How about a meeting in an hour," replied Bennet not turning around, "and get your hands off of me."

Fletcher removed his hand and held both of them upwards in an apologetic manner. Candice opened the door; she brushed her skirt down a bit, trying to gain composure. Mohinder saw the look shared between this new guy and Candice and knew that they had seen something wrong with how Bennet was acting. Feeling it was his duty as a friend, he followed Bennet to his office.

Mohinder knocked on the door, waiting for when Bennet called him in. As he walked into the office, he saw Bennet holding up a picture frame in front of him. Mohinder knew it contained the graduation picture of his daughter Claire, shoulder to shoulder with Sandra and Noah, Lyle was in the foreground. He had after all taken the picture for them, not so long ago.

"So she's back from the Petrellis I hear," asked Mohinder as he sat in a chair across from Bennet's desk.

"Molly was the first one she called when she got back at the airport," replied Bennet with a slight smile, "surprised you two didn't bump into each other there."

"Noah, I have to ask," said Mohinder seriously, "but why were you so upset today."

Bennet sighed and rubbed his face with his hands, "Mohinder, my friend…I thought there would be change…."

"And has there not be change?" asked the geneticist, "the difference we can make now, for good, compared to the harm this Company has caused."

"There is no change," replied Bennet, "it is not the Company that changed five years ago; it was me that out grew the company."

"Heart of Stone," whispered Mohinder, "Noah, you are the Company…it is you. You have helped it over the years regain its roots."

"And yet for twenty years I have remained in the same position here," he said removing his glasses and whipping them with a cleaning cloth, "no recognition."

"Is that what you want?" questioned incredulously, "our job is not about having a plaque that says employee of the month. It is not about the awards or recognitions we could get, or should get. I will not submit my father's and my research for a Noble prize. We are here to help people, like how we started to really accomplish a difference five years ago."

"What difference did we make," replied Bennet with a sigh, "we both saw friends and associates die gruesome deaths, and we were unable to prevent it."

"WE, yes, we helped to prevent a future that would be worse for all of them," said Mohinder, "does that not mean anything to you?"

"It does mean something to me," said Bennet, "but from what all our reports have indicated, the present future does not look so bright."

"And yet you are hesitant," Mohinder crossed his legs.

"If I as in Niemans position," started Bennet, but stopped himself.

"That's it," laughed Mohinder, "you wanted to be in Niemans position. And now that you aren't, now that you feel rejected, unimportant, obsolete, you feel you have nothing to show."

"I should have been nominated to the position," quietly agreed Bennet, "but no one did."

"You should have nominated yourself," said Mohinder.

"No one would have seconded my vote of confidence," dejectedly answered Bennet.

"You underestimate me, Noah," continued Mohinder, "you would have had my vote."

"Thank you," said Bennet, he looked at the picture of Claire's graduation, "go and see your daughter, she's missed you."

"I intend to, but I thought you needed some help," replied Mohinder as he got up, "and try not to be so rough with Fletch, he's a good guy from what I've gathered."

"Fletch?" questioned Bennet as said person popped their head in the door.

"You called, partner," replied that ambitious voice from before. What have I gotten myself into, thought Bennet as his new partner sat down in the chair Mohinder had just vacated. The Indian geneticist made it to the door way, turned around with a smile on his lips and mouthed the words 'good luck' to his former partner.

* * *

Peter Petrelli  
Rochelle, New York

The summer rain was warm, even near dusk as Peter paid his respects at his family plot. His hair was soaked, along with the black outer jacket he wore tight around himself. Ironic that the only peace he could find was among his dead family, one of which he betrayed and the other he had killed. He sighed deeply as he leaned forward and rubbed the letters of his fathers name engraved in stone. He heard a rustle behind him; instinctively he flicked his head back, his hair whipping around to splatter water. The usual face greeted him causing his heart to plummet farther.

"We were going to do the right thing, Peter," replied his brother Nathan wearing the same blue suit and shirt and red tie as he walked forward, the rain not affecting him.

"I thought I had forgiven myself," said Peter with a sigh, "but ever since your death…my idea of right and wrong has been…devastated."

"Pete, you know how I feel on that subject," replied his brother as he walked closer to stand shoulder to shoulder with his brother as they looked over the grave of their father and Nathan's, "well…I know how you feel on this subject…you know how you feel…this…this subconscious stuff is confusing, isn't it?"

"You only make it that way," said Peter with a morbid laugh, "well, I make it that way, I guess…"

Nathan laughed himself, "Peter, there is a right and wrong, and what Dad and Linderman have done was wrong, what they had planned was wrong. It needed to be stopped…I…we did the right thing for New York, for the world."

"But what about for the family," said Peter, "for Mom, for Heidi, for Monty and Simon…for Claire…what about me Nathan…what about me?"

"You would have hated yourself more if you killed all those people," replied Nathan as he looked forward to the horizon, Peter had turned to look at him, but Nathan just gazed forward, "you would have become apathetic, uncaring at the world had you survived to kill everyone in the city. I could not let you go through that, you're my brother..."

"And now what Nathan," pleaded Peter as he reached for the supportive shoulder of his long dead brother, his hand slipping through him like smoke as Peter dropped to his knees, "now what am I suppose to do."

"Why ask me, Peter," said his brother, "what answers do I hold that you don't already know?"

"I'm lost Nathan," pleaded Peter still on his knees in the rain, brushing his long wet bangs back, "I'm lost…so lost."

Nathan kneeled down next to his brother, a small tear coming down his stone faced cheek, "you're only lost because you want to be, Pete."

"Nathan, you're dead…I…I killed my own brother," Peter started to cry, his tears lost in the warm rain hitting his face, "I don't know what to do, where to go…"

"Then don't, Peter," said his brother, placing a hand on his shoulder, but the only warmth came from the summer's rain, "stay in the city, do what you've been doing…but live, Peter. Live life, not my death."

"I…I can't," said Peter.

"You must," finished Nathan as he walked forward, disappearing at the sun finally set.

* * *

Matt Parkman & Audrey Hanson  
Washington, D.C.

"So have you contacted Wireless yet?" asked his Audrey a day later as they sat down in the Special Investigative Service branch of the FBI.

"I sent an encrypted message on her website," replied Matt, "now it's just a waiting game, have you finished your report for McCullen yet?"

"Yes," replied Audrey as she started to type in her login code, _don't tell me you haven't done it yet_ she thought. Matt smiled and looked over at his partner who turned to face him; she shook her head _how did you get to be FBI again?_ "Matt, you can't be serious, I know you have dyslexia and all, but…c'mon!"

"Please," begged Matt, "last time, I promise."

"You said that after that nationalist group we busted," said Audrey, "and that terrorist cell and those few serial killers we nabbed," she rattled off counting on her fingers, "in five years, have you done a single report on your own?"

"I've done a few," replied Matt, "but I was busy last night with Janice and Little Matt."

"No," said Audrey, Matt just kept on smiling, "no, I said."

"Oh, alright," said Matt as he opened up his word processor, "and my dyslexia had nothing to do with my report writing."

"Okay," replied Audrey as the loud ding notifying an instant message was received came from Matt's speakers; she rushed to the other side.

Wireless: Parkman.

Matt started to type something in, but looked at Audrey. He backspaced and then responded by typing: Hana, you got my message?

Wireless: Yes, but I need a favor first.

Matt typed back: That might be hard for me to arrange.

Wireless: fine then, good luck on your search.

Matt looked at his partner and quickly typed: I might be able to work something out.

Wireless: It'll be quid per quo then, once my information need is set I'll answer all of your questions.

Matt rattled on the keys quickly: All my questions?

Wireless: Yes, as long as this favor is done.

Matt looked at Audrey who nodded: What is this favor?

Wireless: I need for you to check on someone that I've helped.

Matt laughed and typed back: nostalgic for an ex-boyfriend.

Wireless: If you aren't willing to take this seriously, I'll walk away…well figuratively.

Matt typed back: I'm sorry, didn't mean to upset you.

Wireless continued: His name is Abu Aswan…he is one of us.

Matt was a little confused: one of us as in having powers?

Wireless: Yes, same as Sprague's.

Matt looked at Audrey, "pull as much information on Ted Sprague that you worked on. I remember a fair amount, but we need even the medical stuff," he then typed back: Where is he, is he a United States national?

Wireless: He is not from the US. He is from Egypt and has been living in Montreal for the past three years. He called me last night in fear that someone was following him and then another person took the phone saying he was indisposed.

Matt typed back: He is not a US citizen or in the US, there is not much I can do except contact the local FBI branch in New York and ask them to have an interest.

Wireless: He is on your CIA's terrorist watch list.

Matt: That gives more to work with, but we still have to respect Canada's right to be Canada, you know?

Wireless: Find a way, looking through the list of people you've been associated with, there are three that could easily pick up and check on him.

Matt: Depending on who these people are, I might give them a call...

Wireless: the deal is for the finding of Aswan, not the trying to find him.

"Goddamn it," sighed Matt out loud and then typed: Okay, what are they're names?

Wireless: Bennet, Suresh and Petrelli

Matt had to stand up and walk away from the computer, rubbing his face with his hands. He looked at the monitor and fake punched and kicked the air in frustration. _Damn you Hana_, he thought out loud, _why three people that would not like it to much to get a random call from me_. "Fuck," he summed up as he partner returned with a file in hand.

"What did it say," asked Audrey as she moved behind the desk to look at the conversation.

"You remember that place in Odessa," he asked.

"The one that slapped us with a five hundred foot restraining order and is under constant surveillance," Audrey replied, "Primatech Paper Co. is it?"

"Yes," said Matt, "we might need to stop by there."

"You have got to be shittin' me," replied his partner, "what do we need to do there?"

"Get in contact with Suresh and Bennet," replied Matt, "they'll be the most helpful for finding this guy."

"Why not get this other guy, Petrelli," said Audrey, "Petrelli as in one of you guys from Kirby Plaza?"

"Yes," said Matt, "I know he doesn't want to talk to me."

"Why do you say that," she asked curiously.

"When I last asked him for…help…he threw me into a brick wall ten feet away," said Matt with a shake of his head, "using his mind."

Audrey looked at her partner in shock for not having reported an event as there was another ding at Matt's computer.

Wireless: So will you get what I want Parkman?

Matt looked at Audrey once again and then typed: Yes, and when this is done, I want all information on McTruth.

Wireless typed back: Find me Aswan and I will give you McTruth on a silver platter.

* * *

D.L. Hawkins & Nikki Sanders  
Las Vegas, Nevada

Nikki walked into their house in Las Vegas, kicking off her shoes and removing the vest that all dealers had for a uniform at the casino she now worked for. Two things had favored Nikki when she and her husband returned to Las Vegas five years ago. The death of Linderman had removed all obstruction from her gaining back a job for casinos, conditioned that she remain in Alcoholics Anonymous. The second was the popular gain for poker, leading to world tournaments and an increase of the internet crowd making their way to try their luck in flashing lights that made up Las Vegas. Casinos needed dealers, Nikki was experienced and in terms of poker dealing and casino life, not to mention she was eye candy to the internet card jockeys.

D.L. had not hit it off that poorly either after his return to Las Vegas. Again, with Linderman's death, this meant that a lot of his hotels and casinos switched hands leading to either their renovation, destruction and then rebuilding. Getting a job for construction was easy to come by for D.L. now, even hazard pay for high rise work was a welcome friend to his pay check. They were not rich by any means, but they were able to live, even with Micah in college.

Admitted early to California Technical Institute at the age of fifteen was tremendous for their genius child. Bills were a major fear for both Nikki and D.L., payments for tuition, room, and food were expensive. Luckily, while Micah was admitted at such a young age he also received some scholarship money. Whatever wasn't covered by scholarship was luckily picked up by financial aid from the federal government. Nikki and D.L. considered themselves luckily because they were able to work respectable jobs again and give their child a life that will be better then their own.

Nikki walked into the kitchen to see D.L. pouring pasta into a boiling bowl of water. The small pan with red sauce was on a slow boil, the scallions and mushrooms in it still on the top and not mixed in. Nikki walked behind her husband, putting her hands around his waist and resting her head on his back. He leaned back, pushing her backwards as he turned around to face her.

"You're going to have to stop doing that when Micah gets back he said," leaning down to kiss her on the lips, "god, it's like our honeymoon all over again."

"Imagine if Micah didn't go to college early," she said as she started to walk to the stairs, "I need a shower, it's been a long day."

"Dinner will be ready when you're done," said D.L. as he turned back to the stove.

"No company?" Pouted Nikki as she disappeared behind the wall next to the stair, her hair being the last thing he saw from the corner of his eye.

D.L. continued work at the stove. He stirred the sauce and the pasta separately every few minutes. There was a ring of the door bell. D.L. kept stirring his sauce and pasta as he took them off the flames.

Nikki yelled down the stairs as her water turned off, "D.L. can you get the door?"

"Sure," yelled D.L. as the person now knocked hard on the door, "one second," he walked to the door whipping his hands on the back pockets of his jeans thinking the wash will be able to get it out later. He opened the door and there stood a hooded figure in a black cloak and heavy boots. D.L.'s body instantly tensed, he had a bad gut feeling about this man, even though there appeared to be some sort of golden cross hanging from a chain around his neck.

"May I help you, Father?" he asked, hoping that he got the right term, could be a monk he thought.

"Are you D.L. Hawkins," asked the hooded man in an accented voice, one that D.L. was not familiar with.

"May ask who you are," D.L. replied, his instincts not relenting.

"May I have a moment of your time, Mr. Hawkins," the priest removed his hood as he stepped forward into the threshold of the house his pale complexion and his limp brown hair noticeable just as the front door of the Hawkins – Sanders household closed shut.

**A/N:** As you can see there is still a lot of back story that needs to be filled in and will be as this fanfic continues. I hope you all enjoyed this installment. Please review, and thank you for reading.


	4. Entangled

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or the associated works of Tim Kring, NBC Studios, et al.

* * *

Heroes: The Corrupted  
Episode 4: Entangled

Molly Walker & Claire Bennet  
Odessa, Texas

Molly was folding small shoulder cupped shirts and stacking them by color and size for the display rack in the middle of the store. A headless, legless and armless manikin was dressed with a yellow version of the shoulder cup sleeve shirts with the front buttons half undone to show the fake cleavage; the shorts hiked up so that even though the manikin's legged mid thigh, there was around four inches uncovered by cloth at the base. Molly's small hands continued to fold the shirts and tuck them into the display. Claire walked behind the younger girl and lightly pulled her hair back. Molly winced and turned around to look up at her older friend.

"You bitch!" laughed the little brunette as flipped the back of her hair trying to get it to look bouncy and full.

"You say that to the girl who gets you a summer job?" huffed Claire in a mocked hurt feelings as she started to fold the shirts alongside Molly, "under the table I might add, so you don't have to waste all that excess money on taxes."

"I get to waste it on clothes instead," joked Molly as Claire throw a shirt her head and messed up her hair once again.

"Did your mother ever tell not to mess with a woman's hair?" scolded Molly as she looked into the mirror next to the display trying to fix her hair.

Claire was behind her, folding the shirt still and smiling, "calling your self a woman now?"

"You can stay a girl if you want, Claire," said the younger.

"I guess you don't need the real surprise I have for you," goaded the older one as she started to walk away after placing the shirt down.

"Wait," called out Molly, intrigued with this new prospect.

"Yes," said Claire slowly.

"What is it," asked Molly, her hands crossed over her chest as she chewed on her bottom lip.

"If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise," stated Claire jovially.

"You can't just mention it and hold it front of me like a carrot to a rabbit," said Molly impatiently.

"Or like a shot of whiskey in front of a fourteen year old?" replied Claire dismissively.

"That is unfair," said Molly, "I guess dad told you."

"No, Mohinder didn't tell me," Claire looked into they younger girls brown eyes, "my father told me."

"Jesus," seethed Molly, "those two can't keep secrets from each other."

"It's more Mohinder can't keep secrets from my dad," said Claire, "I don't know if that man ever has opened up more then the little side of humanity he shows on occasion," referring to her father.

"Lets hope his daughter doesn't take after him," replied a pouting Molly.

"What do you mean by that," continued Claire as they walked and talked to the front desk.

"Tell me about the surprise!" pleaded Molly.

"I will when I know the manager isn't coming back soon," answered Claire.

Molly's face went blank for a second. Her bottom lip quivered causing Claire to worry having studied symptoms of mental and nerve disorders for her pre-med courses. She rushed to the girl and started to shake her shoulders, her hand on her forehead. Molly started to burst out laughing, catching Claire by surprise.

"What is it," Claire said forcibly.

"You do not want to know," replied Molly as she pushed Claire off of her and went behind the counter resting her face in her hands and her elbows on the flat surface.

"Tell me, Molly," demanded Claire, "is it about Susan our manager?"

"And Zach, your friend," she continued with a laugh.

"And Zach…" realization dawned on her, "but I thought he was gay."

"Not _that_ gay for the two of them to be knocking books," said Molly with a laugh.

"But, she's so much older too," continued Claire dry gagging at the idea of her friend and manager having sex.

"She does look like a man though, especially with those thin lips and strong jaw line," said Molly, "still doesn't make seeing it any better."

"Don't give me any ideas," begged Claire as she rubbed her closed eyes wishing to dispel any image from their view.

"So…," drawled the younger girl, "can you tell me what the surprise is now?"

"Fine, anything to change the subject," Claire reached over the counter and pulled out her pocketbook; she opened it to her wallet and threw a plastic card to Molly.

Molly looked at a slightly old picture of her self next to a hologram of two women adjourning a shield of some sort that listed her name and an address. The address was obviously not hers, nor the listed birthday which made her twenty one years old.

"You got me a fake ID," Molly all but screamed out causing Claire to blush and try to hush her.

"Shush your mouth," Claire's eyes shifted around the store to see if anyone had heard, "I got this for you only for the summer, when I go back to New York for college, I'm taking it with me."

"But why?" said Molly trying to pull off a puppy dog face.

"You don't need to get in anymore trouble," said Claire seriously, "when dad told me what you and your friends had done, I thought you need some responsibility and trust in someone. So I am taking you clubbing with Zach and some other friends only to show you good, responsible, mature behavior and not uncontrollable drinking habits which your friends are giving you."

"Thanks mom," sighed Molly as she flipped the card in her hands.

"I'm serious," said Claire, "if you want to be mature, you should know losing control of yourself can lead to horrible things. What do they teach you guys in health class anyway?"

"Not much," replied Molly, "and thanks for your concern, but I can make my own right and wrong choices."

"Just let me help you along the way," Claire put a hand on Molly's shoulder.

"Thank you," said Molly as a customer approached her holding up two shirts, "Just make sure Zach doesn't take Susan."

"Done deal," said Claire as she walked back to the display to finish putting it up.

* * *

D.L. Hawkins & Niki Sanders  
Las Vegas, Nevada

"We got to…keep on…running," panted Niki as she lifted D.L. onto her shoulder as they ran through the open back yards of houses.

"Where…are we?" panted her husband, a large gash in his head was still bleeding freely.

"I think…some where near…St. Rose Parkway," said Niki as she briefly glanced at the newly built suburban developments.

"Interstate fifteen," said D.L. as he whipped away some blood that had gathered on his eyelid, "takes us…to Los Angels."

Niki stopped in the next back yard and turned round to see a grilling unit from one of the previous backyards they had passed fly unnaturally in the air. _Shit, _she thought to her self as she gathered D.L. and walked to the back door and kicked it in. The family that owned the house was sitting down in the living room. The father got up immediately and reached for a nightstand cabinet as the mother and children screamed in unison ducking and covering their heads.

"Wait…" said D.L. as the man grabbed a gun.

"Help us," pleaded Niki.

"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" bellowed the man as he placed himself in front of his family, "Susan, go out the front door, get help."

"Mark, maybe…" pleaded the blonde woman as she gathered up the kids from the front of the couch.

"Susan, damn it," pleaded the husband holding the gun in D.L.'s direction, "listen to me."

"Sir…Mark," said Niki slowly, "please, we need help."

"Shut up you!" the husband waved the gun to Niki's direction, D.L. moved in front of her instinctively.

"Listen, man," began D.L., "help us, don't help us, it's your call. But there is…someone after us."

"The cops no doubt," said Mark as he cocked the hammer of the gun, "I give you to the count of five to get out, or I start shooting."

"Listen to us," pleaded Niki from behind her husband, "we don't want to harm you."

"One," said Mark as he checked the door to see his wife and kids were safely out of harms way.

"Man, all we need…is you car," said D.L. as he whipped his forehead again.

"Two," said Mark as his wife and kids walked through the door with another figure dressed in a black cloak and hood with a melted looking cross on his chest.

"Susan, I told you to get help," said Mark as he kept the gun on Niki and D.L.

"Mark, I did this is Father Gray," she introduced the man as he removed his hood to reveal a pale face that was clean shaven with short hair parted to the side and a deep scratch on his left check that was not bleeding.

"Mark," drawled Sylar in a falsely serene voice, "there is no need for weapons…I will just take these mentally ill wards of mine off your hands."

"Bullshit," said D.L. as he whipped his head, "Shoot him."

"What," said Mark and Susan at the same time as the kids edged closer to their dad, both then reprimanded "Anthony, Sandra, outside…now!"

"But mom, dad," pleaded the kids, "we ant to be here to see dad shoot the bad people."

"Great thing to teach your kids," quipped D.L. as Niki rubbed his shoulder and slowly backed forced him to back up.

"Don't move," screamed Mark as Sylar moved closer as well, Mark turned to him pointing the gun, "you too!"

"Mark," screamed his wife, "he's a father…don't wave a gun in his FACE!"

"Susan, for the love of god, get your self and the kids out of here," said Mark as he walked closer to the false father.

"Susan," said Sylar, "listen to your husband…this might get messy."

"What…what do you mean?" she faltered for the first time.

Using his stolen telekinetic power, Sylar forced Susan to fly to him with her neck in his strangling hand. She spluttered and gagged as Sylar closed his fist more. Mark stood in shock seeing the unbelievable happen before his eyes. D.L. ran forward trying to help the woman as Sylar flicked the fingers of his free hand sending him across the room mid air. D.L. phased on instinct and disappeared through the wall of the living room.

Niki ran to get her husband as Sylar flicked his finger again and sent her through the wall connecting the kitchen. Tile and ceramic fill around her as broken dished crunched under her mixing with water from broken pipes. Niki slowly got up, coughing out dust as she looked through the gaping hole to see Mark shoot twice at Sylar's head. The false father stopped the bullets mid air and stared at them with a sinister smile before he twitched his fingers again and sent them into the skull of the woman. He let go of her neck letting her crumple to the floor as her kids gathered at the body crying hysterically.

Mark shot four more times at Sylar, whom stopped all the bullets and stared at them with another smile. The widower grew fearful in a short period of time as he through his body on top of his children in time to take all four bullets in the back. He coughed up blood one last time and then remained still, the weight of his lifeless corpse now capturing his kids in a trap. Sylar smiled and picked up the little girl with his telekinesis.

"Come out now or I will rend her limb from limb," his sinister smiled deepened, "slowly…"

Niki stood up and went through the gigantic hole, "leave her alone, it's me you want, not them, you monster."

"You brought them into this," said Sylar as he tore the girl's foot off with his mind and sent it flying at Niki. The girl let out a tortuous scream that sent a shiver down Niki's back and caused bile to rise in her stomach.

"You sick son of a…" said Niki as she batted the shoe filled with foot away like an oddly shaped tennis ball.

"Now watch your language, Mrs. Sanders," said Sylar as he ripped the girls other foot off, "there are children present."

Luckily the girl had passed out with pain, but it would be soon that she woke up as another piece was pulled off. Niki threw up in her mouth a little as she looked at Sylar in the eyes.

"What do you want," she asked, negotiating in hopes to keep the little girl alive and for the cops will arrive soon, _please let a neighbor have called_.

"Accept being damned and join us, for once and all obtain salvation," finished Sylar as he ripped the girls arm out of it's socket, she awoke and screamed in pain as she hovered in the air still; blood being reverted from the severed limbs with his telekinesis.

Niki started cry, _he is going to kill her…no matter what,_ she thought as she heard a rustle from the other wall; it was D.L. holding a long metal gun with rubber tubing on it, "obtain this!" He said as he pulled the trigger to shoot the spear.

Sylar noticed all too slowly that D.L. had reappeared and was punished with a spear lodged in his upper shoulder blade. Sylar lost concentration, dropping the girl as he started to radiate heat causing his surroundings to burst in flames. Niki Ran forward and picked up the girl, blood flowing freely from he stumps covering Niki's shirt in a deep rich scarlet. D.L. rushed forward and hit Sylar in the head with the spear gun and rolled the corpse of the father off his son to get the shocked and scared boy and his father's gun.

D.L. spotted the flashing red and blue lights coming down the street from the open road and motioned for Niki who was sobbing over the now dead girl's body; "Niki, we have to go," he said, "she's gone but we can still save him," he bounced the boy in his arm.

Niki looked up, "I…d-did…nothing."

"Niki," said D.L. as he grabbed her hand and forced her up, "not the time, we got to move," with that they walked through the wall to the garage where D.L. had been thrown into. He put the boy in the back seat and phased into the drivers seat looking for the keys and then slipped his hand into the dash break it open from the inside and started to hotwire the vehicle.

Niki walked to the passenger side door got into the station wagon. She looked back at the pale face of the kid as the car started to back up through the garage into the drive way and onto the street. D.L. drove slowly as the cops passed by, so as not to draw attention to the car. As luck would have it the biggest distraction was given as the house they had just left burst into flames, the front door flying off its hinges and hitting the first squad car as the roof collapsed. D.L. swerved in shocked causing the kid to roll over sideways on the seat.

Niki shook his arm gently as she watch people get out of their houses and go see the sight that illuminated the evening sky. The boy's eyes were glassy and unfocussed but he was still breathing lightly, though unevenly. The stopped at the last house as they saw the owners walk to the major scene and sat the boy on the porch hoping he would some day understand what happened.

They got back in the car after removing the car tags and stated to merge onto US Interstate 15 to get to LA. Niki turned to her husband as she unbuttoned her shirt and threw it out the window and took the gun D.L. had place on the dashboard and undid the clip to see how many rounds were left before reloaded the gun, her chest heaving back and forth with only a light tank top covering her torso now. She looked at D.L. whose jaw was set, unmoving.

"I'm sorry," she said to D.L. and no one in particular.

"Nothing to be sorry about," said D.L. as he white knuckled the steering column, "does this car have a cell phone?"

Niki looked in the glove compartment and the arm rest but found none, "no."

"Next gas stop, we need to call Micah," said D.L. seriously, "warn him."

"You don't think he will…" began Niki.

"After what he just did," began D.L. with a grimace, "I think we need to warn Micah."

"We need to get to Micah," said Niki.

"We need to get to LA," D.L. said earnest, "then Micah."

"He is our son," Niki pleaded, "there is nothing in LA more important than Micah."

"We need help," D.L. continued, "I remember that cop…five years ago…you said he was LAPD."

"Former LAPD," corrected Niki, "so?"

"He can help us," said D.L.

"I don't think…" began Niki.

"He's a cop, he can get SWAT or FBI or someone to help us," D.L. was staring at the road, not looking at his wife directly, "than we get Micah…and…hide."

"He might not even live LA anymore," said Niki, "he could have moved…or died…or something."

"He survived five bullets to the chest," he said; "If he's not there, we can get him."

"D.L…"

"Niki, we need help," he continued, "you saw what happened back there. We can trust him."

"Can we?" she asked as she tucked the gun in her jeans.

"I'm banking on it," he finished as they continued into the darkness of US Interstate 15.

* * *

Matt Parkman, Audrey Hanson & Cormac McCullen.  
Washington, D.C.

The flat screen TV on the mantle showed the nightly report from Las Vegas and a split screen picture of the CNN report of two houses burning continuously as hazmat workers with Geiger counters in hand. The sound had been muted to give the silence in the room a devastating and eerie feel to it. Cormac clicked off the TV and with a growl threw a manila folder on his desk.

"Do you know how much Homeland Security wants to blame this on terrorist?" he asked rhetorically, no sign of his usual playfulness in his voice, "God knows I should let them too. Explain!"

"Well, sir," said Matt as he looked at Audrey who handed him a file, "our contact with Wireless informed us of a man named Abu Aswan with a power similar to one we've seen before."

He opened the file on the desk to show the bearded face of Ted Sprague that had a red stamp over his visage that read: DECEASED. He flipped to several pages including the aftermath of the explosion in the Bennet house in Odessa, TX. He also flipped to the picture of the oncologist that was radiated and burned to 1800 kuris.

"Do we know who owned or was in these houses?" asked Audrey as she looked over the file from the Director of Operations.

"I believe it was Johanns, the boy was found in shock at the end of the block by some neighbors," said McCullen, "and a house owned by one Niki Sanders."

"Niki Sanders is a person of interest," said Matt, "so is her husband, D.L. Hawkins. Both were at Kirby Plaza five years ago. Has there been any word of the two of them."

"Nothing, but hazmat is still unsure if they can enter the scene, so there has not been a body count as of yet," McCullen replied remorseful, "but they should be able to enter in a day. Any ideas about what happened?"

"It is my belief that Abu Aswan perpetrated these events," said Audrey taking the lead from Parkman, "seeing as he is a listed known terrorist for the Mossad and CIA."

"May I make a comment, sir," added Matt as McCullen nodded, "In light of names you just gave, I do not believe Aswan was behind these events, to my knowledge he did not know Niki Sanders or D.L. Hawkins. I had spent time with Sprague and another that picked up this ability due to his own. This lead to the events of Kirby Plaza five years ago because of being unable to control this induced radiation."

"Where is the threat?" asked McCullen, "and whom."

"While this may be the work of Aswan," said Matt with a nod to Audrey, "I think we need to keep a tab on Peter Petrelli."

"The dead congressman's brother," questioned McCullen with a flash of remembrance in his eyes as Parkman nodded, "I can have someone from the New York branch tail him."

"That might not work," said Parkman seriously, "he has a multitude of powers and can easily detect people or evade them."

"Are you requesting this, or demanding the assignment," said McCullen.

"That was the second part of Wireless' conversation," said Audrey as she threw a transcript on the table, McCullen read it over quickly and frowned.

"I do not see it as being possible, for you two to contact Mr. Bennet or Dr. Suresh," said McCullen, "but Primatech is under surveillance."

"I do not have a good history with Petrelli," gave away Matt, "he turned down joining Project Metal Jacket…rather aggressively."

"I see," McCullen sat back in his chair pondering for a moment, "I want you, Parkman, to tail Petrelli, and you Hanson to go to Las Vegas and question the boy and try and find D.L. Hawkins and Niki Sanders. I will send Thayer to Bennet and Suresh in hope that she will make one of them talk to us. Hopefully they will say Aswan in Primatech's holding."

"And if he isn't," questioned Matt, "what then?"

_Then we are shit out of luck_, thought McCullen as he gleaned a look at Matt, "then we flush him out as being the cause of this Las Vegas disaster and hope someone from the other departments can bag and tag him."

_That is asking for trouble_, thought Matt ruefully as he remembered Ted's unstable emotional state leading to uncontrolled bursts of radiation.

* * *

Noah Bennet & Harry Fletcher  
Acoma Village, New Mexico

A car would have stuck out like a sore thumb on the plan rolling landscape near the old Acoma Pueblo and the new Acoma Village where younger residence now stayed. The next best thing for Bennet and Fletcher was camouflage to match the surround sand and brush. Bennet was on his stomach using a tripod mounted scope to get a closer look at the targets house while Fletcher looked in the same direction with no scope. He turned to Bennet.

"Her family is in tonight," he said with a tight jaw, "no chance of pick up."

"Here comes the target now," said Bennet, "and we cause still say hello."

"Pick up is essential," said Fletcher firmly.

"We give her the choice," said Bennet, "let the family choose with her."

"She's over eighteen," continued Fletcher, "parents mean nothing."

"Become a parent first," replied Bennet flatly, "they'd want to know."

"I would not mind having a kid with this one," whistled Fletcher softly.

"If you ever used your enhanced vision on my daughter," said Bennet, "consider it the last thing you see."

"I'd die a happy man," quipped Fletcher cheekily, "by the by, when will I get to meet you family partner?"

"Hopefully never," replied Bennet s he looked intently as a tanned skinned lithe girl stepped out of an old pick up truck with a plait of black hair behind her back and down to her waist. She turned around for a moment looking in the direction of Bennet and Fletcher and then around before heading into her house.

"Do you think she made us," asked Fletcher as he reached for a silencer.

"Put that away kid," said Bennet harshly, "did you get trained in anything?"

"I jump the gun a little bit," Fletcher put the silencer back in his side pocket.

"That'll shoot you in the back," said Bennet as he turned away from the scene and opened a durable military laptop, "or me."

"Possible ability," questioned Fletcher ignoring the last part.

"Intuitive memorization," said Bennet as he typed in a log for the Company, "can copy motion, remember movies, books…pretty much everything seen can be used."

"Photographic memory to the max," replied Fletcher, "would have been useful in college."

"Think of it this way," said Bennet, "if she watched the surgery channel for a day, she'd be able to do all of the operations blindfolded."

"If I could trade in my ability for that," Fletcher joked, "I'd gladly do it."

"Evolution, not supermarket, kid," Bennet looked over his shoulder, "target location?"

"Shower," answered Fletcher with a smile.

Bennet sighed and put his hand in front of Fletcher's eyes, "have some decorum."

"You know I can see though your hand right?" replied Fletcher, "powerful eyes and all."

"Don't strain too much," sighed Bennet as he sat back, "I'm resting my eyes, do not apprehend target till company gives command."

"Sure thing, old man," replied Fletcher as he looked at in the general direction of the house.

Two hours later Bennet heard a ruffling of sand near him. He opened his eyes to see Fletcher reloading his service hand gun and placing it in his shoulder holster as he looked at Bennet's form rising. He did up his shoes as he started to talk out his pressed suit jacket.

"Text from the company," said Fletcher, "bag and tag time."

"Thought it was meet, and greet," said Bennet sarcastically as they both placed on their suits and abandoned their scouting post. They walked down to the small house where their target lived with her family. The bulge under Harry Fletcher's jacket made Bennet nervous that they would be treated hostilely. After all, white men on a Native American Reserve dressed like government representatives were hardly welcomed with open arms. Bennet took Fletcher aside, and took his gun from his holster and tucked it in the small of the other man's back and flipped the suit tail over it.

"If you are going hide a weapon, hide it," he seethed, "we do not need to provoke anything."

"Yes, _sir_," said Fletcher with clear vehemence, "can I ask you something?"

"No," said Bennet and turned to continue walking to the house.

Fletcher ran up to him and grabbed his elbow, "what is your issue, old man? What have I done wrong?"

Bennet turned to face Fletcher, "we are on a mission that comes first."

"I know all of that, but you are preventing me to finish it," said Fletcher.

"I'm protecting my own ass from your foolhardy mistakes," answered Bennet as he edged forward with a finger at Fletcher's chest, "this is your first mission and you have been unprofessional, you have been lacking any street smarts, gung ho, all-American bullshit of shoot first ask questions later. How you got out of Iraq or served in the Police Force I do not know, but when it comes to a job like this," Bennet gestured around them, "you can't afford any mistakes because either you kill the target or the target kills you. Both ways you'll end up the same, forgotten, lost forever to the hollows of time with no name, no meaning and a vain death."

"Look at yourself, old man," seethed Fletcher, "you have want what you can't have, you are jealous of people like me. Someone will remember my name, my life does have meaning, and my death will never be in vain to me. You have already given up…a has been top agent turned old man with nothing but a golden retirement watch in the future. A nothing, you succeeded at nothing. You will not get that youth back you lost for a nameless cause that has been recreated outside of your image. You have nothing to offer. Worthless."

Fletcher started to walk to the door again as Bennet clenched his fist trying to control his anger. He couldn't and wound up running after Fletcher and tackling him to the ground a cloud of dust where they land. Bennet punched him in the face as Fletcher pushed him away with both hands on his face. Both were swearing and throwing punches and kicks wildly as they grappled. The click of a shotgun being cocked for a shot rang in the night air.

Bennet and Fletcher looked up and both mouthed, "Oh shit." A shotgun was pointed directly at them by an older man with pock marks and high cheek bones. There was an older woman behind him and the younger one they had seen enter the house early. Fletcher got up to his knees just as Bennet did the same, whipping his bloody lip.

"What are you doing on my property," questioned the older man.

Fletcher looked at Bennet in hopes of getting out of the situation, Bennet sighed, "Mr. Redhouse, my name is Mr. Bennet and this my colleague Mr. Fletcher, we represent a group that is interested in your daughter, Sparrow Redhouse, and what she can do."

"What can I do," spoke up the high cheekbone girl they had watch enter the house.

Fletcher looked at Bennet, then at Sparrow Redhouse and said, "You can do everything."

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you for reading once again. I hope you enjoyed this episode, if so please review and tell me! There is an Acoma Village and Acoma Pueblo that are part of a Native American reserve for the Navajo. 


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